Homefront: New Mexican Resistance
by Frontier Productions
Summary: A war is a deadly, morale crushing experiance for humanity. A war for your very home and way of life can be devastating. When North Korea invade America, the citizens of the Tularosa Basin fight back in a deadly geurilla war for their very freedom.
1. Chapter 1

**ONE**

**July 4th, 2026**

The air above the Aspendale Christian Camp was abnormally clear. On a normal day, the clearing that made up the camp would be packed with god-loving kids getting ready to celebrate the day that every American was ingrained to remember.

Independence Day. The day America became America. The day that our elected Colonial leaders looked our British occupiers in the eye and said, "Enough".

This wasn't a normal day, however, not by a long shot. Instead of kids playing in the fields, Humvees and APCs waited for repairs. Instead of kids rushing from the dorm to greet the new day, soldiers in olive uniforms with tan armor passed by each other. Instead of kids embracing their trust in God on the Odyssey rope-course, Korean soldiers trained for battle. Instead of the American flag flying true on the flagpole next to the Christian banner, the North Korean banner flew alone.

While the Koreans had changed what the Camp was, the tweeting birds kept it partly what it was. A mountainous environment. Trees reached for the sky, grass grew lush and green, and the cold air bit the inhabitants' flesh.

Even with the amount of activity, the small valley in the Sierra Blancas was quiet. Even the invading Koreans didn't want to upset the tranquility of the forest.

An explosion crashed that tranquility as the camp's Mess Hall was engulfed in flames. Cries of agony pierced the air. As the boots of the survivors stomped against the gravel to extinguish the flames and save their comrades, a bugle sounded off from the trees on both sides of the camp.

War cries pierced the air as men and women in a mismatch assortment of clothes and masks charged from the tree cover. Weapons barking, they descended upon the Korean garrison like a shark on a bleeding fish. Some of the attackers didn't even have rifles, they either wielded a pistol, knife, or some charged in with some sort of blunt object.

Rockets flew from the tree line and slammed into the vehicle depot and dorm building. The resulting explosion sent shrapnel flying and caused even more casualties amongst the Korean ranks. Gunfire filled the air as the attacking force began to fire down on the invaders. Even with the mass chaos and confusion, the Koreans fought back. The melee armed attackers were the first to be targeted and they began to fall to the barrage of rounds flying at them.

Even with their comrades falling, they charged on. One of the attackers, dressed in a German forest camouflaged flight suit and with a ski mask on, clothes-lined a Korean soldier before tackling another and beating him with a makeshift club. When the beaten Korean finally went limp and stopped twitching, the attacker stood and looked around to see that the battle was already over. It always ended as quickly as it began, that was the chaos of war.

Looking around, the flight-suit outfitted attacker saw the his brothers-in-arms searching the camp for survivors. Sporadic shots marked when one was found and finished off. Older, easy to fix civilian pick-up trucks came speeding up the dirt road, ready to receive the piles of weapons, ammunition, and food that the attackers would scavenge. Looking up the hill he charged from, the flight-suited attacker saw a man come jogging down it wearing an old American BDU uniform with a recon wrap around his nose and mouth and a BDU boonie cap on his head. Held readily in his hands was the tried-and-true M16 rifle.

"Schmidt!" the man called out to the flight-suited attacker as he caught up with him. The name-tape on the front of the uniform said that his last name was Cole. Schmidt knew his full-name to be Jason Cole, the co-founder and undeniably leader of the wide-spread Basin Resistance Cell. At the bottom of the Sierra Blanca mountains lay the city of Alamogordo. In the entire Tularosa Basin there were three settlements and two, former US, installations. The town of Tularosa lay to the North of the city while the village of La Luz rested just outside the Alamogordo city limits. Holloman Air Force Base was located west of the city, near the center of the basin, but was shut down when the government began the military budget cuts.

The Base used to be a training field for the American F-16 fighters, a home base for drone operations, and a desert training base for the German Air Force. Schmidt was a pilot at the base before he retired when the base closed and stayed in Alamogordo to be with his new found American friends.

The second installation in the basin, which was still open before the Invasion, is the White Sands Missile Range. A small Army garrison had manned the range, though they rarely did any real testing of missiles but more of just sat and waited 'til they were needed. Last Schmidt heard though, the range had fallen under Korean control, much like everything else in the western United States. The old Holloman Base had been transformed into a fully functional Korean airbase while Fort Bliss, located near El Paso to the south of the Basin in Texas, became a major Korean army base.

The Koreans took the Basin easily enough but holding it was a different manner. They had never planned for Cole and the other Basin citizens, added with the town of Cloudcroft citizens in the mountains, to fight back. The city of Alamogordo was basically abandoned when the Koreans began their major operations, as was Tularosa and La Luz. Everyone grabbed what they could and headed for the mountains. Now, as the Taliban did in Afghanistan, the citizens of the Basin began a major guerrilla war against the Korean forces. This attack on Aspendale was one of many operations that the Cell had carried out so far.

"Schmidt," Cole began, "I need you to take a group of people and get the surviving vehicles at the depot rolling outta here, got it?"

"Ja, it will be done," Schmidt replied. He knew he had a deep German accent and pronounced 'w' as a 'v' but he learned that Americans were quick to learn to understand the accents of others. As Schmidt grabbed a handful of men and women, he heard Cole's voice echo about the valley,

"Come on! We need to be gone before their QRF mobilizes! Move it people!"

Schmidt and his selected group of fighters reached the depot and began to search for any intact vehicles.

"Call out if you find one," Schmidt ordered before they split. Schmidt began to go along the rows of vehicles but saw that many were either damaged from shrapnel or were aflame, he avoided the ones on fire completely.

"Found a Humvee!" a woman cried out. A couple seconds later, and engine roared to life. "I'm rolling out!" she yelled again before Schmidt heard the engine growl louder as the accelerator was depressed.

"Got an APC here!" announced a male voice before the rumbling of the powerful engine echoed throughout the depot. "Rolling out!"

Two more Humvees were found before it was just Schmidt and a female fighter left searching. After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, the woman called out,

"Hey, I found something. You might want to see this!"

Following the voice, Schmidt found her staring at the largest piece of ground-based military engineering ever conceived. Sitting before the two of them was a M1A3 Abrams tank. From what Schmidt could see, as it had been put under a camo screen, it retained it's tan paint job.

"Must be from Fort Bliss," the woman concluded before she began to pull the rest of the screen off. Like Schmidt thought, it still had the tan paint work but painted on either side of the barrel was the Korean NKOA (North Korea's Occupied America) flag. The flag showed the American flag washed out in a red hue with the Korean star in the center and the wreath of the KPA wrapped around it.

"You know how to drive a tank?"

Schmidt looked towards the voice to see the woman looking at him expectantly. He shook his head,

"Just planes."

"Well, shit."

"Shit indeed."

The walkie-talkie hanging from Schmidt's flight-suit crackled before a familiar voice spoke through it,

"_Schmidt, this is Cole, what the hell is taking so long, over?"_

Unclasping the walkie-talkie from his flight-suit, Schmidt put it to his mouth and hit the button, "Cole, this is Schmidt, we found an Abrams. Don't know how to drive, over."

"_Say again, it sounded like you said 'Abrams', over."_

"You heard correct Cole. One of your American Abrams. NKOA flag painted on though."

Schmidt pronounced NKOA as en-co-eh. It was a pronunciation that spread quickly through the cell when it was first uttered by a very southern, very pissed, cell member.

"_Well I'd be damned. Wait one Schmidt. Cole, out."_

Schmidt attached the walkie-talkie back to his flight-suit before looking to the woman. The blue bandanna that was over her face was around her neck now and the hood she had on was pulled down, revealing the long red hair she had and the thin lips with freckled cheeks. She was looking at him the entire time he spoke with Cole.

"How long before the QRF gets here?" she asked him.

"Depends on whether this garrison got a call out but I'd guess in about twelve minutes."

"Think we'll be gone by than?"

"We better be."

"_Schmidt, this is Cole, found someone who thinks they can drive it. He's heading your way now. Out."_

Schmidt didn't plan on responding as he didn't need to. It wasn't long before a man in jeans, jacket, combat rig, and three-hole ski mask came dashing around one of the ruined vehicles with a Korean T3AK dangling at his side from a single-point sling.

"Oh, hell yes!" he shouted as he tore off the mask with one hand, revealing short brown hair and a rugged goatee. Shoving the mask in his jacket pocket, he moved up to the tank and went around to the front of the tank, the barrel was pointed backwards for storage reasons. Schmidt and the woman followed him around to see him climbing on the treaded vehicle to a hatch in the center of the front of the chassis.

"My dad was tanker," he began as he opened the hatch and dropped in, "he told me how he was able to drive a tank and showed me the interior of the driver compartment when I was a kid."

"Whatever. This thing operational?" the woman retorted, putting her fists against her waist. Schmidt liked her already. He jumped when the jet engine that powered the behemoth roared into existence. The man's head peeked over the lip of the hatch. He began to speak but Schmidt couldn't hear anything over the engine. Climbing onto the chassis, Schmidt put his ear right next to the man's head. When he spoke again, he could hear him.

"We're good to go! Need a crew if we get into any combat but I can drive it alone!"

"Roger that! We'll ride on top for security! Pass me your rifle!" Schmidt replied with a thumbs up. He watched the man fumble for a couple seconds before the rifle was thrust out of the hatch and into Schmidt's awaiting hands. Schmidt checked the rifle briefly before reaching down and yanking two extra mags from the guy's harness and shoving them in the pockets of his flight-suit. He than motioned the woman onto the rumbling tank. She moved up next to him so that she could hear.

"We're gonna ride up top as security!" Schmidt began, "You need to man the fifty!"

She nodded before climbing on top of the turret and prying open the hatch behind the large Fifty-Caliber Machine-gun mounted on top of the turret. Sliding herself into the hatch, she took a second to stare at the gun with a look of awe before pulling the charging handle back.

Taking the radio from his flight-suit, Schmidt reported to Cole once more, he had to yell to be heard over the radio,

"Cole, this is Schmidt! We're running and ready to roll out! Over!"

"_Roger that Schmidt! Get it to camp and get it covered up. Hopefully the Forgotten and Wildcat guys did their jobs. We're edging closer and closer to Check Mate Schmidt. Cole, out."_

Schmidt smiled as he put the radio back onto his flight-suit. Grabbing onto the cage on the back of the turret, Schmidt crouched down and yelled into the driver compartment,

"Let's roll!" To get his point across, Schmidt also pointed forward. With a hop, the tank began moving to the dirt road. Their destination was the Resistance camp deep in the forest. With only the attached bladders on the turret being the limited supply of gas for the tank's jet engine, Schmidt doubted he'd see the tank being used for much besides Cole's prophesied 'Check Mate'. Schmidt found himself looking forward to that day where the Koreans are pushed from the Basin for good.

Than, though, it'd be a defensive game against the counter-attack that they all knew would come from Fort Bliss and from the Korean detachment in Las Cruces over the mountains on the west side of the Basin. Things will get really interesting than.

But all Schmidt had to worry about right no was somehow sneaking a tank back to camp and hiding the damned thing.

Funny thing, this war.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

**July 4th, 2026**

Being a saboteur was something that Allan Anderson learned was not an easy job. He used to be a mechanic but, with the Korean invasion, he decided he'd be better at ruining vehicles than working on the vehicles of America's attackers. As he walked down the streets of the mostly abandoned Alamogordo with his hands in his jacket pocket, he took a moment to think about what he was doing.

He was part of what he suspected was the largest Resistance Cell in America in a detachment consisting mostly of saboteurs like himself. The Cell leader nicknamed the detachment the Forgotten because, since he let the detachment be an autonomous entity, they were easy to forget about. Well, that is until a major NKOA building or KPA group disappeared off the grid. The thing that Allan found most humorous is that the Forgotten made up one-third of the remaining population of Alamogordo. Even though it was a hard life, with the occupation, shortage of water and food, and cold night, Allan stayed in town just because he knew his part in life know.

Before the Invasion, he was a lowly mechanic in one of the city's multiple repair shops. The shop didn't get much business in those days and Allan was part of the lucky few who the management deemed necessary to keep. Even with his job, Allan found it hard to live due to the crashed economy and his minimum wage paycheck. He began to question whether the hobos were better off than he was. When the EMP struck, he was forced to quit his job and join the homeless around burn barrels to stay warm.

When the KPA dropped the documents on how to present yourselves when they arrived, Allan watched as many citizens ran for the hills, literally. When the first KPA occupiers arrived, he listened to the odd firefight in the streets while obeying the KPA rules himself. He made himself into an ideal citizen but still harbored hate for the Nork bastards. He watched as fighter jet after fighter jet, cargo plane after cargo plane, and helicopter after helicopter landed at the old Air Force Base. He watched the KPA turn the old High School into a Processing and Holding Center for citizens selected for mine duty somewhere else in the state.

Finally, two men approached him and told him about the Resistance. Not much, of course, just enough to pique his interest. Without taking time to think about it, Allan agreed but refused to leave the city. They told him he wouldn't have to if he didn't mind doing some of the shadier, dirtier jobs the Resistance needed doing. After being ordered where to hit, who to hit, and what to hit for a couple of missions, he was giving full autonomous status by his superiors in the Forgotten detachment. As an added plus, the other saboteurs began calling him a saboteur instead of a 'greenback'.

He had found his purpose in life and, as he came out of his trip down memorial lane, he would be damned if he'd fail that purpose now. As he approached an old radio station, he shook his head against the thoughts and the wind. In reality, he was signaling two fellow saboteurs flanking the station door a couple yards away from the two KPA guards standing right outside the doorway. One was huddled around a burn barrel while the other was just leaning against a rusted chain-link fence smoking a cheap, Korean issued cigarette.

Allan tucked his head into his shoulders as he made to walk past the guards, that is, if he hadn't 'accidentally' bumped into one. The guard cursed in Korean as he knocked Allen away with his rifle. In no time, Allan found himself staring down the barrels of two rifles. Raising his hands into the air, Allen chuckled lightly, aware of the tightness of the pack's straps he wore on his back.

"I'm sorry fellas. I'm just trying to get home and didn't see where I was going, I-" Allan was interrupted as he received a rifle butt to the gut. Doubling over, Allan fell down to his hands and knees, gasping for breath. Allan looked up to see that the guard who hit him was about to speak before a bullet ripped through his helmet and entered his skull, instantly killing him. The guard's buddy spun around to face his friend in surprise. A piano wire found it's way around the man's neck, causing him to buck and twist as he tried to escape. Finally, the man went limp and his attacker slowly lowered him to the concrete.

Working his way to his feet, Allan took a moment to examine his accomplices. One was dressed in a pair of black slacks, an untucked white button up shirt and dark brown fedora. He too wore a pack on his back. The other was dressed in tattered jeans with a worn-out Carhartt jacket on and a holey, dirtied T-shirt on underneath. He too wore a pack.

"Couldn't you guys have come before he hit me?" Allan wheezed out. They both shrugged their shoulders. Allan just sighed before fishing out a key from around one of the guard's neck. Unlocking the door, Allan removed his own suppressed pistol from the back of his pants before opening the door and moving inside. He first entered a small lobby and was excited to see no one guarding it. The station used to be one of the Basin's four music stations but the KPA changed it's use from music to propaganda. It was Allan and his team's job to change it's use once more. Working their way through the station, they discovered that it was entirely empty. Entering the studio, they could hear the propaganda spewing from the speakers. They all moved into the studio and removed their packs. Allan removed from his a recording that he could insert into the board and play through the radio.

Allan also pulled a suppressed Super-V SMG, a black, loaded-out, combat rig, and a ski mask from the laden pack. He turned to see the two other saboteurs, already in their rigs and masks, attaching blocks of improvised remote explosives around the station with their own Super-V's hanging from slings. Allen pulled on his own mask and rig before sliding the SMG's sling onto his form, allowing the gun to hang at his side while he moved over to the studio board. Taking the recording, Allan inserted it into a slot and waited. He waited for what felt like years for his teammates to finish planting, more like hiding, the explosives before they reported to him and took defensive positions in the studio.

"Alright gentlemen, we just got to hold long enough for the recording to finish. Leadership thinks that this will increase our numbers greatly. Let's hope so," Allan said before he hit the 'play' button. The Asian accented voice stopped and was replaced by a truly American one.

"_This is Jason Cole, leader of the Basin Resistance Cell. Our great nation is being raped by the Korean invaders. They say they have come here to 'Assist us in regaining our prosperity' but that is a lie. They have come here to strip the Western United States of it's resources. They have irradiated the majestic Mississippi and it's tributaries to separate us from our Eastern friends and family. The KPA are abducting your brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, and other family and friends to strip the land of resources. Many are not seen ever again. We have received confirmation that those who do die, whether in the mines or in the ruthless reactions to Resistance movements, are thrown into pits like garbage. I will not stand for these atrocities and neither should you."_

Shouting could be heard outside and Allan tensed his grip around his weapon. He had never heard of the mass graves and it enraged him more than anything. As the recording continued, he waited for the first KPA to show his head.

"_We can make America great again. We can raise America from the ashes of this oppression and return it to it's status of greatness that it was before the economic downfall and this ruthless occupation. The first step, however, is to rid ourselves of the Korean forces who break into our homes to kidnap our children to turn into mindless drones. Once we have rid ourselves of our oppressors, we will have Retribution for we will face the Pacific Ocean and fight our way across the Korean peninsula. We will march up the steps of Kim Jong-un's palace where we will shove a red, white, and blue boot so far up his ass that he will be shitting the American national anthem and puking up the Deceleration of Independence until the day he dies! Fight for your homes! Fight for your family! Fight... for your FREEDOM!"_

When Cole finished speaking, Allan and his team had already dropped a handful of KPA soldiers. Over the radio, the American national anthem began to play. It was sweet to Allan's ears, and stirred a patriotic fervor within him that seemed to permeate throughout the room as he saw that his teammates were infected with the fervor as well.

"Think it'll work?" one asked.

"It better," replied the other.

"We're really gonna do it gentlemen. We're taking the fight to them," Allan stated with glee. They quieted when they heard more KPA troops enter the station. The first Korean to come into view was dropped with a burst and before the others could react, Allan and his team charged to meet them. The surprised Koreans were easily mowed down and, as the team emerged into the street, they could see the effect that the broadcast had.

Chaos ruled the city as fires burned, vehicles were toppled, and rifles barked. A group of civilians were currently tipping over one of the KPA's unarmed transports when Allan exited the radio station and he saw another using his own fists to beat a Korean who was long-past dead.

Smoke clouded the sky as fires raged unrestricted. Allan found himself joining a crowd of civvies as they charged against the High School. Other Saboteur teams across the city completed their objectives in the chaos, whether it be blowing something up, killing a high-ranking official, or capturing supplies or information.

Allan stood outside and watched as the civilians ravaged the KPA's equipment at the High School. The uprising was going better than he had expected, soon they would be within Holloman, planning assaults on other KPA garrisons.

Than the bombs began to fall...


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

**July 4th, 2026**

As Cole's message played across the basin and chaos began to reign, a dozen armed and outfitted men and women tried to stay inconspicuous inside a crowd of civilians as they moved through the main road in the settlement of Tularosa, north of Alamogordo, and turned into the Lowe's parking lot. In front of the former super market, two KPA Humvees and about a platoon of infantry stood sentry. When the crowd approached, a lot of them began to fidget nervously. A few looked towards an officer for advice on what to do as the crowd came to a stop about twenty yards from the KPA line. They were mad, but they weren't blinded with rage. Instead, they stood shaking fists and cursing at the Korean occupiers. 

Some of the Koreans began to laugh and share jokes. They gathered together, pointed out one of the protestors, and giggled with each other like school girls. With a startling _whoosh_ a Rocket-Propelled Grenade flew from behind the crowd and slammed into one of the Humvees, blowing it to oblivion. Shrapnel went flying causing some of the KPA and protestors to fall to the ground screaming in agony while a couple KPA fell to the ground unmoving. The rest of the protestors ran off screaming while the second Humvee's gunner was dotted with bleeding wounds.

Three of the fighters dashed to the Humvee and while two provided cover, the third one pulled open the back door and reached in. Grabbing onto the corpse's leg, she pulled him out from the turret and onto the pavement. A sickening crunch made her look towards the vehicle's hood to see her comrade missing the top half of his head and slowly slide off the hood and onto the pavement with a wet smack. By now, the rest of the assault team had taken up positions all over the parking lot and were laying down fire on the KPA platoon, slowly biting away at their numbers.

Shaking off her comrade's death, the fighter climbed into the Humvee and manned the mounted machine-gun on the top. Pulling back the charging handle, she leveled the gun at the enemy platoon and fired. As the gun barked, deafening her and violently shaking her arms, she registered the sparks and sharp pinging of rounds hitting the metal shield on either side of the gun. As the bullets found their mark, she saw the KPA soldiers explode into red fountains before falling to the ground.

The clicking and silence of the big gun rang louder in her ears than the noise of it shooting. She could still see the fresh belt of ammo that was threaded into the chamber. Realizing it was jammed, she had to lean to the side to pull back the charging handle that would hopefully-

The snap and pinging of a bullet as it raced by her head and hit the vehicle's roof behind her made her jump as she looked to the store's roof. On the roof was a lone KPA soldier with a scoped rifle in his hands. The two made eye-contact and time seemed to freeze, a look of surprise on his face and a look of shock on hers. A pinging of a bullet against the metallic shield snapped time back into motion as the two warriors fumbled to win this duel. The female resistance fighter struggled to bring up her rifle through the small hole for the turret gunner while the sniper struggled to get another round loaded in his bolt-action rifle.

Lifting her weapon up at the same time as the sniper, the resistance fighter fired. The round slammed into the sniper's chest, making him fall backwards with his legs dangling, little more than a corpse now. An explosive sensation of pain erupted in the woman's forehead. Touching her hand to her forehead, she felt something sticky and when she pulled her hand away, she saw why. Her hand was covered in blood and she felt the hole drilled into her head. The strength in her legs disappeared. As she fell into the Humvee, the blackness succeeded in swallowing her into the everlasting oblivion of death.

Even with her death, though, the fight went on. It quickly ended with the surviving Resistance fighters leaving the dead where they fall. Entering the store, they made it to the center of the supply depot with no more confrontations.

"Alright Wildcats!" announced one of the men, "Begin gathering supplies and take them to the back. We got some trucks from Central Command coming down to pick it up. Whatever we can't fit on the trucks, we'll destroy."

"Why the hell does CentCom use us as the errand boys?" asked a young fighter, looking at his teammates questionably.

"It's not our job to question Cole and his boys," replied another team member.

"Lock it up. We do what we're told, when we're told, because we're told. Now, let's get it on Wildcats!" shouted the team leader.

As the team began to move the supplies, they heard the distant booms. It sounded like when a plane broke the sound barrier but it was deeper and... darker.

The young fighter answered their unspoken questions when he came rushing to the team shouting, "They're bombing the city!"

"What?"

"Come on!"

After sharing a common look, the team followed the fighter as they avoided barrels of fuel, boxes of food and ammo, and crates of gun as they made their way to the back. When they got to the back and got outside, they saw what the kid meant.

Swarming above the city were jets. Jets swooped down over the city before pulling up sharply and going off to turn around for another go, leaving a fiery ball of destruction behind them each time.

"It's a full squadron..."

"This is why we need to go after Holloman, not be robbing supply depots."

"Why would they do this?"

"Because to them, we're not people. We're **occupied**, they don't need to treat us as citizens or equals."

The team stood in collective silence as they watched the swarm of planes and the sporadic red balls of flame. They watched as the small columns of smoke quickly intensified and multiplied across the skyline. They watched as civilians joined them behind the store. Some were crying, some were angry, and some simply stood in silence.

Finally, the team leader broke the silence,

"Come on Wildcats, we got a job to do."


End file.
